Dear Steven Spielberg,
OH THE HORROR!
I have been a dinosaur enthusiast since… gestation. I’m not sure which of my parents gave me the “dinosaur-loving gene” but it has been programmed in my brain since as far back as I can remember. Yes, I remember the gestational period. However, not as well as I remember the Jurassic period.
I saw this picture floating around on the Twitter and I just have to address it:
I am not an avid hunter and, to be honest, even fishing freaks me out. I have no qualms about eating pork tenderloin, top sirloin, Atlantic salmon, buffalo, lamb chops, or bacon. However, I just cannot, for the life of me, understand why someone would go after and hunt the last dinosaur?
Here I was just minding my little life thinking that the dinosaurs were extinct and you happened to STUMBLE ACROSS ONE. Do you know what I would have done to trade that moment with you? I would have swam across the Pacific Ocean to trade places with you, I would have participated in a half a mile marathon, I would have worn REAL pants for an entire months and forgone my stretchy pants, I would have went AT LEAST 21 minutes without Facebook! And what do you do? YOU MURDER THE LAST TRICERATOPS; THE LAST DINOSAUR!!! What kind of human being DOES something like that?!
Rather than reaching out your hand and telling this beautiful creature you wanted to be friends, or feeding him something, for instance, a Big Mac, you decide to kill him. Rather than showing him all that he has missed since the rest of his dinosaur friends were taken out, you decided to do the same, you barbaric murderer. You could have taken him shopping, to a museum, read him a book, thrown him a birthday party, SO MANY THINGS–but no, you killed him.
Think of all the amazing things I COULD have done with him. I would have easily adopted him as a pet to live in my home. I would have CERTAINLY put him in for cloning so we could try to bring back the Triceratops altogether, I would have bought him a T-Shirt, little dinosaur socks, a dinosaur bed with a cute little triceratops nightlight, I would have taken him to at least ONE of the seven wonders of the world, maybe even flown him to outer space— but no, you killed him. The last dinosaur; you slaughtered him.
If that doesn’t get my engine revving enough, you go out and take a photo with him with a smile on your face as to tell the world “Yeah, I killed this mother fucking dinosaur. ME. I did it! AND I AM HAPPY ABOUT IT!”
WHO DOES THAT!?
I was such a fan of your work. You have completed some serious masterpieces in your time, but then you went out and found the very last dinosaur and decided to take him out. You beastly man, you. Wow.
I want you to know that seeing this photo alone has brought me such severe anxiety that I’ve run out of my beta blockers three days before I should have. Furthermore, I am thinking a voluntary psychiatric hospitalization is in order to recover from the trauma you have created with that photo that is now seared into my brain. You have ripped my dinosaur-loving heart out of my chest and stomped all over it…all while doing it with a big fat smile on your face.
I truly hope that there is still one more dinosaur out there, and more so, that it is NOT you who finds him. And, if by some weird sequence of events, you do find yourself face to face with another dinosaur, I hope this photo of me will sear into your brain before you decide to slaughter any prehistoric creature again. This is a photo of a person who would never hurt a dinosaur, much less MURDER one.
I’m going to go now, I heard you have a new film coming out; one about dinosaurs. OH, THE IRONY! Even though you’ve nearly ruined my life, seeing the film is about dinosaurs, I do plan on watching this new dinosaur movie of yours.
P.S. If you want my forgiveness, you should really click the brown button below. I might forgive you; and that’s Might–with a capital ‘M‘!